


Love me even if it kills you

by Danganrose



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, In the first chapter, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Spoilers, at least ill try
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-11-23 02:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11393835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danganrose/pseuds/Danganrose
Summary: His cursed thoughts of Saihara were taken to the grave, dying in his mind and thoughts.And then he woke up.





	1. Prologue

He’s stopped the press millimeters above Momota’s body. Ouma lets out a sigh that’s mixed with pain, relief, and fatigue. His hands were shaking so badly from having to deal with both the camera and the controls that he nearly missed the button entirely. But he didn’t, of course he wouldn’t- no mistakes can be made in his plans, he won’t get a second chance.

Kaito slides out from the metal jaws, leaving his jacket on the press while he shakily stands up. He probably thought Ouma was going to kill him, and Kokichi doesn’t really blame him for doing so.

Ouma heads down the stairs, he’s forced to hang onto the railing as he feels his body grow weaker from the poison- courtesy of Maki Harukawa. That girl doesn’t know how lucky she is, really. At least she’s going to make it out alive. Then least she can say goodbye to the one she loves.

Kaito doesn’t look at Ouma as he takes his shirt and scarf off, which Ouma is sad about in a way. It would give him a chance to joke about how deviant the other it for looking at him as he un-dresse….it would give him a chance to joke one last time. He hands the clothing to Kaito, who will put it in the toilet later on (With his luck everyone will think that Ouma flushed himself down the toilet.) The two don’t say anything as Kaito takes his spot at the controls and Ouma slides himself under the press.  It hurts his back slightly, but the pain is starting to numb now, making his body cold and fuzzy.

The press is really scary up close, Ouma won’t admit it but it really is. A sky of metal a hairs away from his nose, covering him head to toe. It’s also dark, only adding to the effect of trepidation. Ouma closes his eyes, trying to get a hold of the sob that threatens to break from his mask. This is for the best, he keeps telling himself. This is the only way he can do it. Well, at least it’s the only way in the certain predicament. If only Maki hadn’t shot Kaito, it would have been a cut and dry trial. And Ouma wouldn’t have gotten his chance to get back at the ringleader of this game. Even if he’ll never see the outcome, or the look on their face, the others will, Saihara will.

His only regret before death is not moving Saihara’s picture back with the others on his whiteboard. He knew he should have moved it back sooner….They’re bound to search in there after the trial. And they’ll see the words ‘can’t figure out’ written in his own handwriting. Oh, they’ll also see that he’s got the Amami statue hanging by his bed. The thought of everyone’s expression makes Ouma at least feel a bit better.

 _‘Let them find out.’_ He thinks _‘Let Saihara-chan figure that one out for himself.’_

 When he opens them again Momota is ready to go, he gives him one final look of impassiveness. In the end, he knows that Kaito is going to savor the moment his body hits the press. So he’s surprised to find that the astronaut is looking at him with a sense of pity.

Ouma tells himself that Kaito doesn’t pity the dictator, but rather himself.

Momota closes his eyes and grits his teeth, ready to press both buttons, Ouma catches a shine of blood from the others boy’s teeth. He’ll be the next one to go, if his illness will wait that long.

And then he hears the press whirring and continuing his descend. All sense of confidence that he may have had about dying leaves him. All pain in his system now being left with a sensation of pins and needles. Fuzzy pins and needles.  His mind is running rapid, as thoughts from his mind rush in a cinematic movie.

The first time he woke up and immediately felt something was wrong. The feeling of despair, and how he refused to let it get to him. Saihara strutting into the dining hall without a hat. Harukawa choking him, everyone’s eyes fixed on the two.  Holding back tears as he played hitting his head as a joke.  The feeling of warmth when Saihara looked at him. Iruma’s arms raised to strike. Gonta’s tears as he said how sorry he was over and over. Momota slapping him. The feeling of hatred, the feeling of being hated. The pain from the arrow, the sting of the poison. The look upon Maki’s face as he ‘drank’ the poison. And the hated look from Kaito. Hate hate hate hate hate. All he’s gotten is hate from everyone. Even Saihara hated him at some point.

“Saihara Shuichi.” He had spat into the telephone, refusing to look at Ouma. He had finally, _finally_ put his foot down. Ouma deserved it, he guessed. Ever since the third trial he _was_ going a bit too far. Saihara finally had enough of it, and left Ouma. At least Saihara _tried_ to understand him.

At least Saihara tried. Unlike them. _Unlike them._

The rush of emotions catches Ouma off guard and a tears form, eyes watering and lips turning into a frown of anguish. Despite what he’s said and done and felt, he doesn’t want to die. Not like this, not so soon.

He’ll never get to see the outside world one more time, he won’t see if the others made it out from prison, or if their sentences are lifelong and nothing can be done.

He won’t say a proper goodbye to Saihara-chan. His beloved Saihara-chan. Saihara will truly never ever get to try and solve him now. But even if he was alive, would he even try anymore?

Ouma Kokichi lets no tears escape as his final second comes, only willing to let out a breath of air before metal meets flesh and his mind and cursed thoughts blow into the oblivion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                                          


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma wakes up.

It was dark for a while. Darkness licking behind his eyelids that didn’t exist and worming its way into his mind. Nothing exist here, nothing ever has nor ever will. It feels like he’s floating, drowning yet not choking under the waves of his sins. If there was ever a god, they would be the one to plug the cord, releasing Ouma from his unconscious bath. But he swims, coming to a rest at the bottom of the tub. There’s no air, yet no reason to breath. His body feels weightless, as fragile and as slender as that of a bird. In spite of that, no flying shall be done today. He feels all too heavy, the weight of his own existence pins him down. He’s slipping all too quickly, Ouma realizes that he doesn’t care that much. So he lets it, darkness being washed away with a thicker blend of alluding lies.

___

 

He woke up. It wasn’t a type of awakening where he’s jostled into reality or he gasps as his eyes open. It was awake, or asleep. No in between. Ouma woke up, his breath forming and blowing out in front of his nose. It clings to the translucent mask strapped to his face, rolling down in drops of water. His head holds a constant throbbing that plays in key with his heartbeat, his fingertips are the conductors. His eyes are sore as well, the room is too bright for him and it burns to even open them. He’s laid on some type of bed, arms and legs locked into the railings with soft fabrics. There’s an IV in his right arm, and a lonely flower in its pot on the coffee table across from him. He’s winces for a bit, hazily trying to re-collect his memories that fail to come to him. He tries pulling on the restraints, but they hold tight. He gazes down at his right arm, the sick shade of white burning his eyes a little less than the walls of the room, the tube is connected in his forearm with a white Band-Aid patch to hold it in place. His whole arm is numb, Ouma’s afraid to move his fingers.

“Ouma Kokichi?” A lady enters the room suddenly. If Ouma had more energy maybe he would gather up the strength to be surprised. “Ah, you’re awake- good.” Her voice is high and professional, it gives him a sense of unease.

She approaches him a bit gingerly, as if she’s waiting for something to happen. It rubs him the wrong way.

There’s others that come in after her, dressed in the same black clothing as her. Ouma squints at them, his eyes focusing on the breast pocket of the uniform. A White lightning-bolt looking shape with words scrawled in red underneath.

_Team Danganronpa_

In a flash, he remembers. The killing game, the deaths, blood, how he died, his last final moments as the press came down-

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” he shrieks, they in fact do the opposite, whispering words in hopes to calm Ouma down. “I SHOULD BE DEAD!”

He _should_ be dead, dying with his actions was the plan. _Living with the consequence_ was not.

Ouma screams, thrashing with all his strength he can muster as he tries to get away.

_Away from what? From reality? From living? From the others?_

_From Saihara?_

Ouma yells, he bites and tastes the copper pang on blood.  A sharp stab to the thigh makes him shriek, but his muscles slowly shut down. His body refuses to listen to him anymore, no words can come out of his gaping mouth.

The people in black clothing all back off somewhat, his vision fades in and out of blurs. The light is beginning to fade, he finds his eyelids drooping.

His last vain attempts to conjure up something from the situation is that one of the men looks like Saihara.

Then he’s gone.

___

There’s restraints on him when he wakes up, and he knows he’s doped up on some gas because everything is fuzzy and the sound swims around him, like he’s submerged in a fish tank. His thoughts immediately think of being drowned, his heart rate speeds up, and then something cold flows into his arms and he returns to nothing.

___

His third attempt at awaking proves to be more fruitful than the last 2, thought he has a slight migraine and he’s restrained in the hospital bed, at least he doesn’t panic or want to kill someone anymore.

Someone, himself, anyone. Doesn’t really matter. It all looks the same when you’re depressed. The only thing to tell yourself apart from the others is your mind, chanting the mantra, whatever mantra you want that keeps you sane, for the meantime.

He tries to sit up, but that alone makes him exhausted. When he tries to call out he realizes that there’s something thick in his mouth, pudgy. Rubber wrapped around his teeth.

‘ _oh, So they don’t want me killing myself huh.’_ Biting his tongue off wouldn’t be quick enough, thought the thought of a slow death intrigues him. Nurses would end up shooting another dose of anesthetics into him and have him fixed before he knows it.

Nothing seems to be working, nor does struggling seem like an option. These people could have already killed him if they wanted too, so he guesses he can see what they want.

He waits, lying, blinking at the ceiling. Hoping for something interesting to happen.

Despite how blurry his mind is, he still tries to think.

There was….Saihara. He remembers Saihara thank god, but it was different, it took him longer, longer to remember and longer to recall the look and voice of the boy. Yet he can’t…think of it all… he remembers his hat, and then no hat. And then the neo world program as he spoke to Saihara…then….

A sharp pain ripples through his brain, squeezing at his entire head when he tries to think beyond that. Like something doesn’t want him to think about that memory. Or is stopping him.

He groans, focusing his thoughts back on the room and how utterly boring the drapes are until the pain subsides.

He waits in silence, there’s a smell of disinfectant in the air that makes his nose prick and his back is beginning to cramp from not being able to stretch.

Not even 5 minutes go by and someone walks in. It doesn’t necessarily startle Ouma, but he does jolt lightly.

“Ouma Kokichi, Good morning, how are you feeling?” A man in all black takes a seat by his bed.

“Gragh.” Ouma doesn’t want to give the man an answer, besides, the thing in his mouth makes it impossible too.

“You must be confused.” The man chuckles. It rubs Ouma the wrong way. “Don’t worry. Nothing is going to hurt you from now on.” The man smiles, too fake, too brightly. “Now, I’m guessing you want these restraints off right?” Ouma nods. “Well If you promise not to freak out again, I’ll untie you and tell you what happened, how does that sound?”

Ouma nods again, the man undoes each restraint before finally taking the rubber out of his mouth, saliva trails to his mouth.  He wipes it with the back of his palm.

“There. That wasn’t so bad was it?” the man smiles again.

“Hey, doc, or whatever you are, let’s cut the chit chat and get to the real point- what happened? Why am I not dead? What happened with Danganronpa?”

The man’s smile drops, “You’ll learn, with time.”

Ouma laughs, “ _Sure._ Whatever you say.”

The man doesn’t look pleased. “We can’t tell you, not yet. Slowly, the pieces are going to be given to you.”

Ouma sighs, laying down and turning his back to the man. “Well, when you do decide to tell me come talk to me then, if you have nothing important to say than get out.”

“What if I told you about a certain Saihara Shuichi?”

Ouma freezes, stiffening. But he doesn’t turn around, he won’t give him what he wants. “What about him.”

“He was one of the three survivors for Danganronpa 53, along with Maki Harukawa and Himiko Yumeno.”

Ouma turns back around. “Then why am I alive? I didn’t survive, I died, Momota Killed me.” he thinks of the memory, the pain returns to his temples. “And what did you do to my head? Everything hurts when I try and remember…”  


The man is smiling again, it almost makes Ouma roll his eyes. “No, You didn’t survive in the game.”

Ouma really rolls his eyes this time, “Yeah no shit, and the sky is blue- what’s something I don’t know?”

Now the man smiles, but it’s not forced. No, it’s the smile of a cocky student, the type that always passes the quiz and already knows the answers to the test before it’s given.

“You’re not in the world of Danganronpa anymore.”

“And?” Ouma presses. He has a bad feeling on where this is going.

“Meaning- you did die as Ouma Kokichi, in that different platform of space and time.”

“So what am I now… where am I now?”

The man’s smile drops, then cocks up slightly. “The real world.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember how i said i would try to get the next chapter out within a week? yeah that didnt work out oops but here i am, a slow writer slowly dying i hope you enjoyed my shitty writing i gave up at the end sorta im tired oops


	3. chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma says goodbye and hello.

Despite what the news articles said, or what the internet had to say. It was still illegal for Team Danganronpa to host a real killing game with real teenagers dying. So they found a loophole.

Just like the system they used in the Neo world program, they hooked the contestants up, sending their consciousness into a different platform of existence. In that existence their appearance was slightly different than their appearance in the real world, but they still were flesh and blood and breathing humans. They were able to kill one another without breaking any laws, for after they were killed, their bodies would remain, but their minds would be yanked back, dragged through worlds and times, attached to anchors that dragged them back to their dormant bodies back on the real world.

It was tricky, pull back to early and they would fall dead in the killing game, pull too late and the line would break, their consciousness would be stuck floating forever, not knowing that it’ll never wake again. Unplug the contestant’s minds from the system without a awareness and they would never wake again, permanently stuck in a coma.

He had been dormant for 3 weeks after his death, before he finally woke. And he learned all of this after a month after awakening. Days went by, not seeing a soul besides the doctors and the nurses who all ran tests on him daily, bringing him back to health. He ate his meals, he ran on the treadmill, he talked to the therapists. He did it all and didn’t complain. Well, he did at first. But his only chance of getting out of here was to comply, so he did. He waited and researched, sneaking out at night to steal files and folders, reading, seeing if any of the other 15 contestants were mentioned. But all he found was about him, and about Danganronpa.

God, he’s so sick of that name.

He’s allowed to walk around on his wing of the hospital, but security and locked doors make sure that he doesn’t go too far.

He sits, looking out the window into the garden bellow- autumn is coming, even though he can’t feel it, there’s a chill in the outside air and the wind blows colder each passing day.

The door opens, and the man walks in.

His name is still unknown, he hasn’t told Ouma nor does he ever seem to want too.

“Ouma, I have good news.” He’s smiling that same stupid smile, Ouma wishes he could slap it off him.

“What, did you finally get laid?” Ouma snickers. The thought of anyone wanting a piece of the man makes him gag.

The man smiles still. “You’re going to meet someone new today.”

Now _that_ piques his interest, “You sure? This isn’t some kind of joke or half-assed promise?”

“Oh I’m sure, if you’re finished your breakfast we can leave right now.” He jesters to the half eaten slice of toast and fruit. Ouma’s grown so sick of it.

“Yes, I’m done, now can we go.” Ouma’s already standing, antsy to get going, just to get out.

The man chuckles, “Someone’s eager.”

“Yeah, Ok, now let’s get going.”

“Alright, follow me.”

___

He walks Ouma out of the room, heading down the hallway, turning left and heading towards the elevator. He’s got this place memorized by the back of his hand, at least this certain hall he’s in. The man scans his card on the panel beside the elevator and the doors slide open with a click. He lets Ouma step in before him, then he scans his card again on the inside and the elevator descends with a clunk.

“Hey hey,who are we meeting? Are they a fan of mine~” Ouma giggles, a hand coming up to his mouth in mock amusement.

The man smiles, “Someone you know.”

“Meaning a family member?”

“No, not exactly.”

“So someone from the killing game, then.”

The man doesn’t smile this time, “Yes.”

Ouma turns away from him to think. Someone, oh god. He doesn’t remember much about the others, his mind won’t let him dwell so much on that topic…but…the thought of meeting someone else, it makes him feel sick.

But Team Danganronpa wouldn’t let him see another person if they knew it would only start a fight, that wouldn’t be logical.

Then again, they’re the company who threw teenagers into a killing game for entertainment, everyone is a psycho.

The elevator comes to a halt, a second passes and then the doors slide open with a smooth roll.

“After you.” The man waves an arm humbly forward.

Ouma resists the urge to yell at him, but complies.

He’s standing in a medical wing, workers stare as the two walk by. It makes Ouma feel unnerved, but he smiles and waves, and moves on.

They walk and take multiple twists and turns become coming to a halt in front of a door. Coated black, unlike the rest of the (white) doors in his hall. There’s a holder for a file, and a name plate on the door- but they’re both holding nothing.

“Now.” The man turns back to Ouma, not smiling like he usually does, but a simple, natural yet pleased look. “You go through those doors and you’ll meet the person.I’m afraid this is the last time I’ll be seeing you, Ouma. My work here is gone, by the afternoon, someone else will be taking my position.” He clasps Ouma’s hands, who flinches. “I just wanted to say that it has been an _honor_ to work for you, Kokichi. Thank you.”

“Oh thank god you’re leaving.” Ouma really isn’t lying when he says that. Their whole relationship has been built on false appearances and lies, like most relationships are.

The man smiles, as a last punch in the face to Kokichi, “May your future be filled with hope.” He turns away, and then he’s gone.

Kokichi is left starring at the door, he sighs. _“Hope._ Huh, what a joke.”  As his words exit his tongue he feels a small clicking pulse, but before he has the chance to grasp out and call for it, it’s gone and he’s left standing with a shell-shocked look on his face.  
“Ho…hope?” There’s another pulsing, shaking his entire body for a second like a pleased purr. He gasps, clutching his chest. Everything feels brilliantly warm, a soft hum is sung into his ear as the chide note of a chirp is hummed into his body. It comes as fast as it goes, and then it’s gone.

 _‘Hope... it happens when I say hope?’_ Team Danganronpa _really_ fucked up something in his brain, Christ.

People are whispering and starring at him- even though they turn away when he tries to look at them- he quickly gathers himself  (as best as he can) and looks forward.

All that’s left is the door. Whoever is here will…well it’ll definitely be an important meeting, otherwise why else would he be meeting them first?

His heart silently hopes that it’s Saihara waiting for him and his brain silently hopes it isn’t.

He closes his lids, spinning in his own world of dark confusion and saccharine anxiety until it turns into a taffy that clogs his mouth.   

He swallows, gripping the knob tightly before twisting it and entering. Ouma must have looked surprised, because the man in the room laughs at him.

“Bout fucking time you saw me.”

Ouma swallows, the taffy now threating to choke him. “You…”

He smirks, his hair no longer the burgundy color it used t be in the game. “What’s new, Ouma?”

Ouma feels like he’s glued to the spot, “Why are you here?”

Momota Kaito shakes his head, “That’s what I was gonna ask you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks fore reading! I had this partly re-written so that's why I got it done in a week or so. Hah.  
> Comments + kudos are always appreciated <3


	4. closed

hi 

my mental state is in the gutters. and i dont have the motivation to finish this story. im sorry

i might pick up on writing again, i might not. im sorry


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